


the shield doors must be closed

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Sort of a character study, a little scene I feel like doesn't get enough attention, all canon dialogue, star wars drabble, that last shot of her where they zoom in with the dolly actually haunts me, we see Leia angry! and furious! and loud! but we hardly see her like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: For a moment, nothing happens. Leia hears it again,the shield doors must be closed,and again, and again, and again—the sentence swirling senselessly through her mind, not catching, not sticking, not imparting any meaning—until she hears it once more:the shield doorsmustbe closedand realizes the Major’s stolen her words. That’s her line. Her order to give.
Kudos: 16





	the shield doors must be closed

Lieutenant Alder says, "Sir, all the patrols are in," before he's gestured quiet by Major Derlin and Leia very politely pretends she doesn't see—though she does, of course she does, what's the point of her loitering around in the hangar like this, wringing her hands and pacing and going over all the different ways she's going to berate Han and Luke for wasting her time if not to see exactly what's happening.

They both glance over at her—Alder looks guilty, Derlin looks grim—and Leia gazes back, expressionless. She's prepared to school her features, but finds she doesn't need to. She's empty all the way through—hollow, the way she doesn't think people are supposed to be, the way she's felt since Alderaan.

"…still no contact from Skywalker or Solo," Alder finishes, wincing as he says it. Leia stares back at him, blank.

Part of her wants to quip, wants to crack a cruel joke as she so often does when she's being pressed in on all sides by bleeding hearts and incompetence, wants to say, _"is relaying basic information really so difficult? Should we question your tauntaun instead?"_ but the words never come. That part of her—prickly, suspicious, arrogant—feels distant now, out of reach. She'd traded barbs worse than that with Han not four hours ago and yet as she stands here in the shadow of the _Falcon_ , that girl feels like a completely different person.

"Mistress Leia," See-Threepio breaks the uncomfortable silence like it's his born duty, hobbling over while Alder and Derlin exchange looks. She knows—in a dull, bloodless sort of way—that she ought to push the issue; march right up to Alder and Derlin and demand more information, order a search party, send out the whole kriffing fleet.

Leia doesn't move.

Polished gold plating fills her vision as the droid settles in front of her, and she offers him her attention with the slightest tilt of her head.

Threepio says, "Artoo says he's been quite unable to pick up any signals, although he does admit that his own range is too weak to abandon _all_ hope." Something stirs in the back of Leia's mind again at the droid's inflection— _all_ hope. So she's invited to abandon _some_ hope, is that it? She's not to fall into despair, but instead just dip her toes in.

The remarks fizzle out long before they reach her tongue. Leia's expression doesn't change. She can't quite remember how.

Derlin appears then, looming over her that way she knows the brass don't mean to do—she's so short, most people seem to tower menacingly over her simply by standing—but Leia just leans her head back against the chilled hull of the ship, gazing up at him. The duralloy is cold enough to sting. Leia blinks. Once.

"Your Highness," Derlin says, gruff, "there's nothing more we can do tonight. The shield doors must be closed."

For a moment, nothing happens. Leia hears it again, _the shield doors must be closed,_ and again, and again, and again—the sentence swirling senselessly through her mind, not catching, not sticking, not imparting any meaning—until she hears it once more: _the shield doors_ _ **must**_ _be closed_ and realizes the Major's stolen her words. That's her line. Her order to give.

The shield doors must be closed.

They must. It's a fact. Leaving them open isn't an option—it's not a conversation, not a talking point, not a debate. Nonnegotiable.

Leia hesitates—for one single moment, hardly longer than her own heartbeat—she does nothing. She doesn't cobble an excuse to keep them open, doesn't plot her own daring, stupid rescue attempt, doesn't try and pull rank and counter Derlin's order.

She simply exists. Hollow and impassive and detached.

The shield doors must be closed.

Leia nods.

Derlin turns away at once, barking the order at Alder— _"close the doors" "yessir"—_ and Leia listens to the equipment beep shrilly as the order is punched in. Both men stride away—some part of Leia longs to follow them, to throw herself into work, to pick up a shovel and clear the damn runway if only to make herself _useful—_ but she never moves, watching as Threepio approaches her once more, Artoo rolling up beside him.

"Artoo says the chances of survival are seven hundred and twenty-five…" Threepio begins, distressed in that somewhat permanent way of his. Over his shoulder, Leia idly catalogues Chewbacca clinging to the ladder propped up against the _Falcon,_ head lowered. She isn't moved, though she knows she should be. Knows she would be. "…to one."

The doors begin to close— _the shield doors must be closed_ —and Chewbacca mumbles something, clearly upset, and Artoo is chattering as Threepio lingers awkwardly at her side, but Leia can only stare. It's just the steady whirr of the motors—she expects them to creak, to shriek and grind and moan, to make some kind of horrific noise of finality, but they're just doors.

The shield doors must be closed.

Leia watches, and watches, and watches—she doesn't think of Han, doesn't think of Luke, doesn't think of anything—she just stares down the last sliver of Hoth like she's staring down the sight of a blaster. She's a stone cold shot. This is no different.

They close with the heavy sound of the locking mechanism, and Chewbacca _howls_ , completely distraught. Leia wants to comfort him—she's a princess, a politician, she's the one who just agreed to close the doors, she signed off on the order, _her—_ she did that, Leia Organa—but she's rooted to the spot. She can't remember how to move. She can't even think of anywhere to go.

"Actually," says Threepio, and Leia doesn't even bother looking at him. She keeps staring at the closed doors— _the shield doors must be closed_ plays on a loop in her mind, even as she thinks back numbly: _they are,_ _they are, they are,_ _they_ _ **are**_ _—_ "Artoo has been known to make mistakes."

Leia hardly registers the information. She can still see the image of Hoth's skyline—like her mind's superimposed it over the sight of the closed doors, blurring them somewhere between open and closed. Her fingers itch to punch in the command herself—to walk over and inspect the lock, ensure the doors _are_ shut, fully and completely—but she doesn't. Can't. Won't.

"From time to time," she hears Threepio add—she hadn't even noticed he'd been shuffling away.

Leia moves, then—finally, like the doors have been shut and now she can reclaim her basic mobility, has a full range of motion again, could even talk if she had anything to say, smile if there was any godsdamn reason to—pushing herself off of the _Falcon_ and making for the communication room.

Doesn't talk. Doesn't look at the doors. Doesn't call out to Chewie or Artoo or Threepio.

Doesn't think about Han or Luke or anything that isn't the shield doors and the fact that they are kriffing _closed._

"Oh dear, oh dear," Threepio tuts.

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched the Empire Strikes Back for the first time in a long time and why are we not constantly talking about this [hell of a fifty second scene.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwmaqAQIk3I)
> 
> I'm drawn to it bc I feel like we usually see Leia as Loud and Authoritative and Into The Chute, Flyboy, but this is a side of Leia we hardly see or even really talk about but it's??? super important??? she loves Han and Luke like those are her fucking Boys™ and she has less than a second to internalize the fact that by closing the shield doors she's basically giving up on them, or at least super fucking lowering their chances of survival, but yet Princess-Senator-General Leia Organa barely misses a fucking beat. it has to happen. the shield doors must be closed. shit's raw as hell sorry I don't make the rules.
> 
> at first I was going to rewrite it the way _I_ usually think of Leia, which is her having a few snappy remarks for Derlin and Threepio, but like, the fact that this is one of the only times we see Leia actually speechless felt important enough to leave it as is. this was mostly just a fun little exercise I wrote it in like an hour and most of that time was spent watching the scene on a loop and furiously googling _what are star wars ships made out of?_
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reduxwriter). I'll be writing more Star Wars fic soon if that interests you at all.
> 
> have a good one kids <3


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